Case Number 03637

ANATOMY 2

The Charge

A new experiment in terror...a horror movie without scares!

Opening Statement

Hang your heads in mourning, fellow horror fans, for we have apparently
reached the end of the line for inventive fright films. Sure, Rob Zombie tried
his hardest and presented a stillborn statement to fear's founding fathers
called House Of 1000 Corpses. But for every supposed scare in this moody
metal movie, there was a stupid hairy beaver joke clogging the claret. Danny
Boyle transformed the zombie flick into an apocalyptic rave with anger
management issues, but 28 Days Later failed to instill any lasting
confidence in the dread faithful. As the past few months ambled by, we had
Michael Bay's Leatherface makeover smelling up the cineplex in The Texas
Chainsaw Massacre remake. And outright rejects like House of the
Dead, Place Setting of the Dead, Feng Shui Garden of the Dead,
Cabin Fever, Monkey Pox Fever, and Dance Fever (starring
the true living dead, Denny Terrio) add still more nails to the coffin of corpse
grinding. So we all must be pretty f-ing desperate to turn to those tax
accountants of terror, the Germans, for an offering of suspense and shock. Aside
from the creepy accents, questionable ethnic management issues, and a tendency
toward a diet of organ meats, the detached kraut just doesn't scream scare...the
uniform statistical breakdown of stress fractures in hand-tooled custom
roadsters? Maybe. The development of a master race, most definitely. And
wouldn't you know it, that's the terrible terror premise for Anatomy 2.
Go figure.

Facts of the Case

Jo is a medical intern traveling to Berlin because he hears that it's a good
place to start a life as a depressed, wafer-thin malcontent. He specifically
wants to help his brother, a porn-loving pile of immobile muscle to walk and
wank again. Once he gets to St. Scheisse, where he discovers that there are a
lot more bodily fluids involved in the practice of health care than he had
originally anticipated. Realizing that being vomited on by old ladies is a real
MD dead end, he makes a play to hook up with neurosurgical Svengali Prof.
Müller-LaRousse who, aside from having the goofiest name in the entire
hospital, also hangs out with the ultra chic ex-members of Die Toten Hosen.
After a strange sexual initiation and a quick lesson in intravenous drug use, Jo
is in.

And what he discovers is truly twisted. Professor Hyphen-Name is developing
an artificial muscle that he hopes will one day make the invalid walk, the
limbless whole, and the impotent potent. But in order to carry out his highly
unethical research in semi-complete pseudo-secrecy, he makes his underlings
undergo the painful implantation themselves, the better to control and
manipulate them, so to speak. See, computers can control each mechanical thigh
or bionic bicep, and whenever one of the irritating interns gets out of line,
Windows performs an illegal operation on them. Well, Jo decides to get calf
replacements, and before you know it, he's Shaolin Soccer! He's running fast and
kicking hard. But the accompanying pain is so excruciating that Jo resorts to
morphine to heal thyself.

When one of the inject set dies under less than mysterious causes, Prof.
Freak-Out decides to go to Phase II of his unclear plan. Someone is going to
have to undergo complete neuromuscular deforestation and have a set of robot
ripplers placed inside them. Naturally, Dr. Dash picks little Jo, and before you
can say "Ich Bein ein Organ Donor," there's an intense chase through
the corridors of caregiving. Jo escapes by pretending to be a corpse, and the
island girl nursing staff of the hospital perform an emergency calfectomy to
release the rogue from his android anatomy extras. But Jo must defeat these evil
endocrinologists before they figure out a way to turn gloomy performance artists
into angry ersatz automaton.

The Evidence

Why is the horror film such a hard nut to make marzipan out of? Seems that
for every sweet meat treat that terrorizes our neck hairs to the ultimate
bristle, there is some inanely retarded retread of the giant bug/genetic
mutation/oversized testicle formula for fright and we simply let our jaws slack
in uninspired tedium. Some slasher decides to carve up his bridge club because
they failed to call "four no trump" when he was holding the Queen
alone, and we bed down for a stifling slumber. A spooky ghost vessel is found
off the coast of Newfoundland and the used to be A-list name cast stumble around
its "ooh so scary" infrastructure like drunken squids. After an hour
and forty minutes of mindless mulling about, we discover that the tainted
Titanic is actually a doorway to the evil world of West Mifland, Pennsylvania.
Shock Theater lovers worldwide turn in their lifetime memberships in the
Ghoul Squad. Maybe this is why we cotton to such newfangled creep crap as the
Blair Witch, the Tooth Fairy, and the Toe Jammer. We are just so desperate for
something even remotely frightening that we are willing to discard our highly
honed horror aesthetic and worship any woefully misguided mess simply because it
tries. Success is not an option or concern. As long as we can see that
it's making the attempt to create some spine chilling, we give it a go. Perhaps
this explains the well-received nature of Anatomy and its equally
contaminated Teutonic sequel Anatomy 2.

The best thing that can be said about Anatomy 2 is that it was made
by Germans as a work of fiction and not as some factual recreation of the Nazi's
more rogue scientific tendencies. Actually, this movie wants to push the
boundaries of the horror genre and it does, right out of the scary pits of
fright and directly into bad Robin Cook sci-fi medical action movie territory.
Fans know it's an unwritten rule of the terror tale -- like Jason never dying,
nubile bee-atches getting nekkid, and minorities becoming first kill mincemeat
-- that infirmaries and doctors (unless they are mad doctors) make lousy
domains of dread. Some fans foam over The Kingdom, a Danish soap opera
about a haunted hospital. Others point to Michael Myers appointment in the ER
known as Halloween II to support an intravenous version of fear. But as a
matter of standard operating procedure -- forgive the pun -- a place of healing
and terminal disease doesn't quite quiver the shivers.

And yet Anatomy 2 sets all of its medico mumbo jumbo and wobbly
German techno inside a hideous hospice that's supposed to chill the bone when
the most it will eventually do is mellow out your marrow. Now it's true that a
sanatorium or asylum can be a very creepy place, what with their exploratory
cranial surgeries, spinal taps, bed pans, and hefty co-payments. But the sterile
setting of Anatomy 2 looks more like a bad theme restaurant instead of an
actual place of medical practice. There are even premise-specific rooms
available to serve your cerebellum tartar in. Most of the action takes place in
OR 17, or the "spine room," a strange highly technical playground
decorated with machines that go "ping" and a carved ornamental
vertebrae entrance. There's the beloved soiled laundry room, piles of puffy
white pillowcases stuffed to the gills with even more yellow and brown tinged
ivory unmentionables, scattered about the low ceiling locale like dirty
marshmallows on a sweet potato casserole. There's the bathhouse style ER, with
its never-ending corridors and individual private waiting rooms set-up that
matches the quick service needs of the sterilized Eurotrash homosexual on the
go. And let's not forget the grounds themselves, complete with weirdly warped
window views and its own murky moat. Indeed, Anatomy 2 spends so much
time focusing on the finely detailed science setting that it forgets there is
supposed to be a plot inserted somewhere within it.

Writer/director Stefan Ruzowitsky, an able Austrian obviously getting back
at his ancestors' oppressors, sure loves to play fancy camera trick games in
this movie. Returning behind the Panaflex and the Corona for another go at
Anatomy's managed care mania, he is a visual encyclopedia of borrowed
styles. As a matter of fact, one could test their secondary cinematic education
aptitude or actually receive film school credit by simply watching this motion
picture menagerie and name-checking all the filmmakers, movies, and mannerisms
it steals. Over-cranked strobe light like Ridley Scott action sequences ala
Gladiator? Check! Jittery jump cut juxtapositions between characters
thinking and anterior images of foreboding ala Gore Verbinski? It's all here.
Steadicam drug trips featuring motionless actors leading the camera around
chaotic scenes ala Darren Aronofsky and Requiem For A Dream? Oh yeah!
Direct to video monster movie anarchy and/or slow motion freeze frames to
heighten the hysteria ala Trainspotting's Danny Boyle? You got it!

Only problem is, all this pretty pilfered picture packaging is in service of
a really stupid schnitzel of a story. Take The Six Million Dollar Man,
fire Lee Majors, and add murderous members of Mummenschanz, and you've got this
artificial body part poop basically down pat. Oh, you will have to add some
Philippine pearl divers turned RNs and a paralyzed blob of brotherly bratwurst
that wants to sniff nurse's panties, and then maybe you'll reach the level of
ridiculousness found in this film. If you just keep reminded yourself that it
was created by people who embraced Nena's "99 Luftballoons" and made
Falco an Amadeus rocking revolution, it will be that much easier to digest and
move on. At times, it is difficult to figure out what Anatomy 2 is trying
to say. They mention this group, the AAA or Anti-Hippocratics (if it was the
Anti-Nowhere League, maybe the movie would make more sense), but their doctor
dogma seems more wrapped up in fashion and jewelry (their gaudy gold rings make
a mockery of the entire "secret society" concept) and less into pure
therapeutic theory. The members of the cabal like Lodge (Black? White? David
Lynch, are you there?) all seem like they are waiting for Holly Golightly to
pass judgment on their accessorizing before they enter the operating theater.
But no amount of black raccoon eye makeup or strangely rectangular eyeglasses
can guarantee a geek breakfast at the Reichstag, let alone Tiffany's.

Apparently, ever since a fellow Frankunfurter made a certain fraulein sprint
three times more often than reality and logic should have allowed, our Black
Forest friends have believed that massive style and some powerful synth beats
can more than make up for a severe lack of story substance. While Run Lola
Run did provide some meat with its memorizing, Anatomy 2 just tosses
us the bone and the fat and hopes we get full off it. There are no real
characters here; just pawns in a putrid game of "guess who's going to
totally change their absent personality this time." Characters we accept as
one way in Act 1, become completely unhinged in Act 2, only to try and redeem
themselves in Act 3. This kind of persona pinball game gives us nothing to hang
our compassion or consideration on, so for all we care, each of the individuals
involved in this convoluted CPR could dissolve into a runny putrescence before
our eyes and we would simply stretch and sigh "Next?" Anatomy 2
doesn't want you to get involved with a hero or heroine. It wants to bait and
switch and lie and cheat you into paying attention, but it has no desire to get
you off. You will leave this movie frustrated and fooled with a pair of cobalt
cajones that no amount of automanipulation can cure.

For you see, the biggest problem with Anatomy 2 is that it is not
really a movie. A movie has a plot and a set of characters and a beginning,
middle, and an end. Leave it to those Bavarian bastards to shuffle the cinematic
certainties and mete out the movie parts like gruel at a "camp"
commissary. Don't ask for more, because they will simply pistol-whip you into
not demanding additional entertainment nourishment. Like they do with banking,
beer, and the Benz, the Germans want to micromanage all the fun, ferocity, and
bodily fluids out of the fright flick and make it over into an exact replica of
themselves: pasty white, emaciated sore losers. Anatomy may have been a
terrifying experiment in fear, mixing medicine with the mysterious and murderous
to create a truly terrifying film, but if the sequel is any indication of the
level of suspense available in this series, then avoid both of these
exasperating x-rays immediately. Anatomy 2 is a lot like a lesson in
human sexuality taught by a virgin: it doesn't understand how "things"
work and completely mishandles the attempted "show and tell."

Columbia TriStar must have some hidden Holocaust bank accounts they want to
keep secret for the way they treat this steaming pile of poorness. Anatomy
2 gets a full-fledged Special Edition treatment that Oscar winners and major
blockbusters could only beg for. This single DVD has more bells, whistles, and
widgets on it than on a circus clown's car. Beginning with an image that's
pristine and deliciously detailed, Anatomy 2 looks better than it
deserves. The original aspect ratio of 2.40:1 is preserved and the carbon copied
artistic flourishes in Stefan Ruzowitsky's compositions and framing look great.
The aural presentation is equally impressive. The Dolby Digital 5.1 is very
atmospheric and the German language soundtrack is up front and clean (there is
no English dub option available, so get ready for a long night with Adolph and
Eva at Berchtesgaden). Then like the inflated opinion of themselves that have
occasionally lead them into "skirmishes" with the rest of the world,
this Berlin based disc is loaded down with bonus content to hopefully explain an
unexplainable film.

We begin with a text commentary from director Ruzowitsky and lead actor
Barnaby Metschurat. Again, these cats can't sprechen ze English so we are forced
to listen to them speak in their Fatherland tongue and then read their
rote insights. They do acknowledge the attempt to make something different from
the first Anatomy movie, but most of the non-stop yak-fest (these two
guys never shut up) is fluffy and frivolous. There are deleted scenes
(which don't amount to much) with more written narrative. However, just in case
you can't get enough of pickled cabbage eaters chatting about their movie, you
can choose the commentary with picture in picture feature and actually
see the idiots talking. And this is still not all. We get a
made-for-German television behind the scenes feature that has some great, arcane
subtitle translations, a set of filmographies of selected cast and crew,
production artwork, galleries, trailers, bonus trailers, and a comparison
between several scenes in their screen test format and in their final version.
All of this fru-fur in support of a stupid little thriller than can't make up
its mind if it wants to be scary or pulmonary. Either way, Anatomy 2
fails, just like a cheap Deutschland pacemaker.

The Rebuttal Witnesses

Perhaps this review is being to hard on Anatomy 2. After all, it is at
least endeavoring to break out of the tired old mold of most modern movies of
the macabre and show us something new and unusual, even if it is Germans with
personalities. It is very stylish and the set design has a real Bauhaus meets
Dachau ideal. But overall, the movie just sucks, coming up scheißen when it
should have been shocking. Still, there is one really neat thing about the
Anatomy 2 DVD, something that actually makes the disc worth viewing. No,
it is not the movie now, so just cut it out. It's the menu screens.
That's right, from the cool, creepy opening of the DVD to the selection options,
this disc has some awesome menu features. Indeed, the menu screens are
everything the movie is not: disturbing, unnerving, eerie, and vibrant. Perhaps
the best way to experience Anatomy 2 is not to watch the movie at all,
but simply play with the menu screens over and over again, creating your own
morbid psychological medical terror tale up in your head as the gloomy guide
pages animate and unfold.

Closing Statement

Let's hope that someone comes along and saves the horror film from a fate
worse than Freddy vs. Imaginary Pixies before it's too late. Certainly
something like Anatomy 2 isn't going to make macabre matters any better.
This bumbling John Banner of a movie "knows nothing" and accomplishes
the same over and over again. Like the human harvesting of Coma, which
was really just a dressed up version of "Parts": The Clonus
Horror without Keenan Wynn's weird overacting, Anatomy 2 imagines
medicos as maniacs but fails to provide them with any significant psychosis to
make their murdering merry. Instead, it's like a lesson in applied
thermodynamics on the Autobahn with this German engineered junk. So if the
notion of Arian irritants running around screaming about how they can't create
their master race because of inherent bureaucracy and paperwork in the
scientific research community straightens your strassa or if the mind candy
camera conniptions get your Goebbels in a groove, then by all means take a peek
at Anatomy 2. Just don't be alarmed when it does a Hindenburg on your
horror hungry ass and explodes with all the humanity of a helium fire.